


Well, It's Better Than Bootcamp

by lynnaria



Category: Clone High
Genre: Continuation of canon, F/M, Gen, focused mostly on cleo and joan bc men aint shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26656450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnaria/pseuds/lynnaria
Summary: 17 years after the canon events of the season finale, the clones reawake.
Relationships: Joan of Arc/JFK (Clone High)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 145





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> if/when i dont finish this im so sorry

Joan’s eyes slid open, lids still sticking together slightly. She stared at the white ceiling above her, blinking rapidly. Her body felt sore and stiff. She stretched out her arms, yawning.

Her head snapped to the side as TV static filled the room. To the left of her was a flat screen TV affixed to the wall. It clicked, switching to a blue screen, then to a burly man wearing a green military uniform. He cleared his throat, then began to speak. 

"Good morning clones of Clone high, and welcome to the United States Military Institute for Clones, or USMIC for short." he pauses for a pleasant smile. "You may be curious as to why you're attending this school, I will be telling you the reason why. You probably want to sit down for this." 

Joan turns her body to one side, squinting at the monitor.

"After a tragic conga line incident in 2003, you were all frozen in a meat locker. You were in a cryogenic state for approximately 17 years. The year is now 2020. Technology has advanced, education has advanced. You have been placed in this closed campus facility for your own safety, as you adjust to your new surroundings. Meet together in the cafeteria, breakfast begins in 10 minutes. If you have any questions, ask one of the campus guides on your way out. More information is to come." The program ends abruptly.

Joan's eyes widen. 17 years? Conga line? What happened? Her head crashes back down on her pillow. What was the last thing she remembered doing...?

Let's see, it was prom. She dressed slutty to make Abe jealous. It didn't work, he still chose Cleo, of course. Her teeth clench in anger at the thought of it. She told Kennedy she was just using him, he was surprisingly understanding. One thing led to another, they slept together. In the freezer. Why was there a bed in the freezer? Everyone got frozen in there? Did everyone see them? Wait. She runs a hand through her hair. Abe _did_ see. She remembers how shocked he looked. Her face turns red in embarrassment.   
  
Below her, she hears shuffling. Joan peeks her head under her, to see a distraught looking Cleopatra. She’s curled up in a fetal position, sniffling.   
  


“Cleo?” Joan says, concern leaking into her words.   
  


She’s hit square in the face with a pillow before she can finish speaking.

“Do _NOT_ speak to me, you harlot!” Cleo said, voice nearly cracking.

Joan retreats to her own bunk, sitting up half way. She was _not_ going to mess with that.

Joan slips off the sheets on top of her. She's wearing a white tank top and fleece pajama pants. It's not what she would normally wear to sleep at all, someone must have put her in this. She hops off the bed, landing with a thud. There's a pair of slippers by the door. She puts them on and exits.

The hallway is lined with doors similar to hers. She can hear faint chatter through a few of them. She sees Harriet Tubman and Marie Antoinette turn the corner to the left of her. Joan follows, and finds herself on a balcony with a staircase below her. Adjacently, there's another door, this one labeled "Boys Dormitory." Large glass windows are hung about, through them she can see that the sun has just begun rising. 

There's piles of students entering and exiting doors, going up and down the stairwells. Joan descends the stairs, finding a group of students surrounding a woman in the same military-uniform as the man on TV was. 

"The cafeteria is straight down and to the right." She says, "You could wait and follow me there, or you can head down yourself."

Obviously, Joan is going there alone. There's a small drop off at the bottom of the building. There's a paved road with several turning points. It's easy enough to spot the it, the huge sign above labeled "CAFETERIA" in bold letters gives it away. 

There's a few people sitting inside, some are waiting in line to be served. It looks like porridge is on the menu. There's cinnamon and blueberries atop of it, so hopefully the flavor wouldn't be too bad. 

She decides to hide behind Marie Currie the entire period. She can see Abe's tall figure sitting at a table to the right of her, alongside Gandhi. At the table two rows in front of her, she sees JFK. She's still processing whatever the fuck it was that happened at prom, so she thinks avoiding them both and not making an attempt to do any problem solving is best for now. Definitely not a productive option, but she doesn't want to deal with it right at this moment. 

Another announcement is played on the big screen in the cafeteria. They're told about the rules of school, no skipping classes, no sneaking out of campus, curfew is 9PM, no sneaking into other's dorm rooms, etc. Joan doubts that even the military will be able to keep random horny teens from doing dumb shit. They also say that schedules have been mailed to the slots inside their dorm room. Everyone is told to form a neat, orderly line to get your picture taken for a photo ID, which also unlocks your dormitory. The line they make is definitely not neat, nor orderly.

She's surprised at how quickly the pictures are taken and put onto IDs. Maybe technology really has advanced. Her expression immediately turns sour when she sees the picture that was taken, though. One eye is closed in her picture, with a lopsided frown. Do these things ever turn out looking good?

* * *

Cleo is still laying in bed when Joan comes back. She's laying on her back, looking blankly above her. Joan bites her lip anxiously as she decides how to word what she's about to say, worried Cleo might maul her for saying anything even slightly cross.

"Um, The- One of the directors asked for you. You have to have your picture taken so you can get an ID, so..." She stammered. 

Wordlessly, Cleopatra threw the sheets off herself, slipped on some shoes, and exited the dorm, slamming the door behind her. Joan releases a breath that had been stuck in her lungs.

Wasting no time, Joan opens the mail slot. There's a stack of paper inside. She pulls out the schedule with her name and examines it. The column that says "COMBAT TRAINING- 2:15 PM" is definitely concerning. 


	2. Chapter 2

Classes here didn't seem so different from Clone High. Well, it was a bit odd to not have a sheep-human hybrid being the one to teach you history, but Joan was managing. Thankfully, she didn't see too many faces she recognized. It seemed like there was way more students than before. Had they produced more clones in the time she had been gone? She did run into Cleo in two of her classes, though she hadn't attempted to make any type of contact with her. Gandhi shared 2nd period with her, but she didn't hear him say anything out of the ordinary.

Next was combat training, whatever that was. Perhaps just a more extreme form of P.E.? She hopes they won't take away the scooters, at least. 

Similar to P.E., there was a locker room. Joan was more than excited to get rid of the ugly uniform she now had to wear. A wool blazer and plaid skirt colored olive green and yellow. It was somehow even worse than the old school colors. While she'd much rather have a pair of pants, at least shorts were better than what she was wearing before.   
  
Changed into the gym uniform, she lined up on the field alongside other students. Her jaw clenches in anxiety as she saw JFK standing a few feet away. He doesn't seem to notice her, too busy talking to Sigmund Freud. Before she has any more time to process it, a bulky-looking man marches to the back of them.   
  
“You’re facing the wrong way, soldiers!” He said. A few people craned their necks over to stare at him.   
  
He let out a grunt of frustration. “TURN TOWARDS ME. FRONT AND CENTER.”   
  
The students all turned around, most shocked by his booming voice.   
  
“When you are on this field, you will address me as ‘Sergeant’ or simply as ‘Sir’.” He says, pacing back and forth. “Understand?”

There’s a few nods, a murmur of “okay”s and “yes”s.

He stomps his boot to the ground. “YOU WILL RESPOND ONLY WITH ‘YES, SIR’ OR ‘NO, SIR’.” He barked, “UNDERSTOOD?”

“Yes, sir!” The students say, several voices cracking.   
  


Joan expected the military to have a bit more tact, but they really went ahead and hired an actual drill sergeant, huh?   
  
After doing about 10 push-ups and 15 jumping jacks for warm ups, they separated the class into boys and girls. They were each given a partner and told to take them down. 

“Remember- no hair pulling, no headshots and absolutely no scratching.” said a a female coach who was matching them.   
  


Joan muttered a sorry under her breath as she punched Kathryn the Great square in her chest.   
  


Doing a faux fight club was also something she didn’t expect. As she brought a fifth girl to her knees, she took a look at the other side of the court field. Across from her she saw JFK attempting to take down a very panicked looking George Washington Carver. he was guarding his face with his hands, backing away one step at a time. Her mind didn’t have time to linger, as Frida Kahlo stepped to the side of her. She took on a wide stance and squared up.

Besides having to dodge a few punches, a kick to the ribs was really all it took to bring her down like a ton of bricks. Why was fighting so easy? Was it the martial arts classes she took in middle school?  
  
The sound of a bell echoes through the area. Students start to scatter, but Joan is dragged to the center of the ring by the drill sergeant. JFK is now less than 5 feet away from her. Worry bubbles in her chest. Internally, she tells herself to play it cool.

“Good job out there, soldiers.” The sergeant says, “Because you two won every match you were placed in, we have decided to move you up a rank. You’ll be put in a more advanced class, so your schedule may change. If you have any complaints, tell them to a counselor. Not me. Understood?”

Joan and JFK both nod.

“What was that? I can’t hear you two, you have to speak up!” He said, eyes narrowed.

“Uh, yes, sir.” They responded awkwardly.

The sergeant shakes his head. “Scudworth raised a couple of Mary’s.”   
  
Kennedy gives Joan a look from the corner of his eye. She returns it, only to quickly look back down at the ground. Joan takes the awkward silence as a chance to break off, and get as far away from Kennedy as fast as possible. Thankfully, he doesn't follow her.

* * *

Joan falls atop Cleo’s bed as soon as she’s back at her dorm. She lets out a dramatic sigh. She never knew switching schools would be so tiring. Well, it's not _too_ different. Maybe it's just that her mood has changed.

She spent the entire day alone, apart from some words exchanged between her and Gandhi. Everyone else she knew was kind of pissed at her. She wasn't really a social butterfly, she didn't need tons of friends, but she did crave someone to talk to. 

She quickly stands up as she hears the door being opened. Her arms folded behind her, as if she had something to hide. 

Cleo steps in, in one of the worst states Joan has seen her in. Her hair is frizzy, one of her earrings is missing, and she’s covered in sweat.   
  


She looks at Joan, a scowl on her face. “I _HATE_ it here. Why do I have to go through stupid combat shit?! This is why I was the cheer captain at Clone High!" Cleo paces in place as she speaks, " I’d let the other girls do the heavy lifting, and I would just stand on top of the pyramid and look pretty! I’m not fit for exercise like this!”   
  


Joan scooted away from the bed, making sure to keep her mouth shut.

“And THEN,” Cleo stops, attention now turned to Joan, “They put me in a room with you! AGAIN!”

Cleo chucks her backpack to the side. “Not only did I hate you before, but now I hate you even more for stealing my boyfriend from me!" She said, "In addition to that, you also took the guy who would inevitably end up being my rebound!"  
  


Joan scratches her neck awkwardly. This is an argument she's not ready to have.   
  


Cleopatra’s glare lingers on her for a few minutes. Eventually, she retreats to her bed and curls into the corner, much like she was doing this morning. Joan decides to move to the desk and try doing homework, in order to keep a bit of distance between them. She sneaks a few glances at Cleo. The other girl is either fast asleep or ignoring her. Joan hopes she doesn't have to live like this forever.


	3. 3

Joan’s worry soon turns to a full blown panic. It’s been 2 and a half days. She hasn’t seen Cleo in any of her classes, not at lunch, not at dinner. Teachers are asking about her, and Joan doesn’t know what to tell them. It’s not like they’ll understand that the second Joan says a word, Cleopatra will leap down her throat and pull her esophagus out.   
  


Though she hates to do it, Joan chooses to ask for help from the last person she wants to talk to.   
  


JFK is in the hallway, surrounded by a pack of girls, as always. She rolls her eyes. She leans on the wall next to them, hands in the pockets of her blazer.   
  


JFK quickly takes the bait, he motions her to come over, a dumb grin on his face. “Joan! Ova’ here!”

Joan steps over, not being able to get too close, as the mob is still stuck to him like gum on a shoe. “Hey.” She said.   
  


“What’s up Joanie, how ya doin’?” He asks innocently.

Joan tilts her head to one side. “Good. I need to talk to you. Alone.” 

A few girls shoot Joan an angry glare as JFK walks away from them.   
  


“I need a private place to talk with you.” She says, “Know a place?”

Kennedy nods. “I can, er, uh, think of a few places.”   
  


He leads her to an abandoned science lab room. So he’s already found places to... Joan shakes her head, not wanting to finish the thought.   
  


“So.” She says, leaning against the teachers desk.   
  


“So...” JFK responds, a smile still plastered on his face, not at all reading the mood.   
  
“I need your help with something.” She stands on her tiptoes so she can look him in the eye.

“Okaaay, and what is it?” He leans in a bit.

Joan sighs. “It’s about Cleo.”

His shoulders sink in dissatisfaction. A frown forms on his face. “Oh, Cleo.”

Joan's arms fall to her sides helplessly. “She hasn’t been showing up to classes, and I’m pretty sure she’s not eating. I know she won’t listen to a word I have to say, so I wanted your advice.”

“You want my advice?” He replies, eyebrows raised. “Erm, I don’t know if-“

Joan cuts him off. “Wait, you’re right.”

“I’m right?”

“You’re right. She has to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. If I say it, she won’t listen.” She grabs him by the arm, “Come with me.”   
  


Joan pulls him out of the room, walking as fast as she can. JFK drags behind her, but doesn’t put up a fight.

“So, when you called me a horse, did you mean to say that I’m, er, uh, some kind of stallion?” He asks.

Joan stifles a snort. Was that just a dumb joke or did he really think she implied he was a horse?

* * *

  
She takes a deep breath as they reach the doorstep. She gives the door a few knocks before letting herself in.   
  


Cleopatra is in her usual spot, she turns her head around to look at the two intruders. Joan tucks her hands behind her back. JFK waves at her awkwardly.   
  


She frowns. “Ugh. You two.” She turns her body away from them, pulling a blanket over her chest. “You guys didn’t have to come over and rub it in.”

“What? We’re not here to rub anything in.” Joan says in a soft voice, taking a step closer to the other girl.

“Can we really be sure we won’t be rubbing anything, Joan?” JFK responded, winking.

He lets out a grunt as Joan’s fist meets his stomach. “We’re just here to help you, really.” She reassured her roommate.

Cleo finally sits up, leaning against the bed frame. “How do you expect to help me?” She said, “You’re basically the ones who caused this.”

Joan feels a pit of guilt in her stomach. How can she fix this?   
  


Not coming up with a good idea, she pushes it on to someone else. She grabs JFK by the shoulders and moves him closer.

“JFK here had a plan to help you! Isn’t that right, JFK?” said Joan.   
  


“I- I did?” He replies, looking at Joan wide eyed. Joan nods frantically.

“Right!” He begins, “I think it would be best if we, uh, talk about our feelings!” JFK turns to Joan again. She nods in approval.

Cleo's shoulders sink. She lets out a sigh. “Oh, Jack, it’s awful.” Joan slowly starts to feel that hatred of her coming back. “I was, like, so in love with Abe, but he broke my heart because of this-“ she shoots a glare at Joan “floozy-“ she puts back on a sad expression, “putting the moves on him.”   
  
“Aw, there, there.” JFK responds, patting her on the shoulder.

Joan has abandoned all feelings of sympathy and now is feeling exclusively anger. “How is this my fault?!” She says, “Just cause he realized he liked me better, it doesn’t mean I stole him!”

“You used me, made me give you a makeover, just so you could steal him!” Cleo hissed

“I didn’t ask for a make over! You gave me one forcibly!” 

“Sure, but you’re the one who decided to keep it once Abe showed interest!”   
  


“I-“

“Ladies, ladies!” JFK said, trying to mediate them.

“What?!” They both snapped in unison.

JFK stared blankly at the two. “Er, uh, well I didn’t think of anything to say past this point-“ 

The room exploded in noise, the two girls desperate to insult both each other and Kennedy. 

**Author's Note:**

> these chapters will prolly only be 800-1200 words bc im a dummy who cant write good endings. i do have a bit pre-written tho so this wont end up being 1 chapter long i promise


End file.
